Ultramarine Blues
by Discord in the Playground
Summary: It's not easy bein' blue.


Discussion abounded in the Honour Guard's salon. True, it was closer to a bar than an actual salon, because in spite of the fancy furniture and the giant gold harp standing on a pedestal in the middle of the room there was a large counter by one of the walls complete with an apothecary serving as a barman, but, to the Ultramarines, 'salon' sounded far classier than 'bar' and thus the place was known as the former. Bars were good for lesser Chapters; in other words, all those who were not the Ultramarines or their successors.

Nevertheless, discussion was plentiful. Discussion about the latest artificer armors and mastercrafted weapons, about which armor pattern was 'in' this year, about what shade of blue went better with what shade of blue, about which xenos head made the prettiest sound when smashed with a power fist, and various other subjects. Not gossip, though. Gossip was below Ultramarines, especially those belonging to the Honour Guard. They merely kept themselves informed about their brothers' strengths and weaknesses for the good of the Chapter.

All heads turned to the door as it parted to reveal their Chapter Master, the unsurpassable Marneus Augustus Calgar. Shoulders drooped in spite of wearing the Armour of Antilochus and face betraying dejection, he dragged himself to the harp. He expertly sat on the tiny stool behind it and began to play the mighty instrument with an ease you wouldn't expect from someone wearing power fists of which fingers' tips were as big as his head.

Divine music flowed from the strings, beautiful and tragic enough to break both hearts of a Space Marine. No soul was left untouched and all shed a tear, the Honour Guards still wearing their helmets activating the built-in devices near their lenses that mimicked tears. The music came to a heartrending crescendo before Marneus stopped playing.

"So... beautiful..." Ortan Cassius breathed, wiping a tear from his face. The two Honour Guards sharing his table were slightly creeped out that the tear had come from his eyeless orbit.

"Wait," one Honour Guard in the room said. "I thought it was the Blood Angels who were supposed to be the artistic Space Ma-"

He never finished his sentence as the gold harp crashed into his face with a discordant _dzoiing_, throwing him off his chair and knocking him out.

"I take it," Cato Sicarius started from his stool before the counter, unperturbed by the knocked out Space Marine besides him, "that the Blood Angels are the source of your disheartenment?"

"Your perspicacity is truly unmatched within the Imperium," Marneus replied grimly as he stood up.

Varro Tigurius marched up to him. "What did they do?"

Marneus sighed. "My last report about their Chapter says that... well, it appears they're better than us."

Everyone in the room gasped in disbelief, bar Torias Telion who contented himself with sipping his wine and Antaro Chronus who hadn't even noticed anything going on around him for a few hours, busy with playing with Predator models on his table, complete with sound effects.

"Marneus, your report must have been exaggerrated," replied Varro. "It's notorious across the entire galaxy that Ultramarines are a synonym of perfection."

"He's just pissed some winged guy with nipples on his armor stole his Avatar face-smashing schtick," Torias commented from the bar.

"...Eloquent as ever," Cato deadpanned from his side.

"You're welcome," Torias replied in-between gulps of wine.

Cato felt the urge to call the sergeant a drunkyard, but resisted it, reminding himself Ultramarines didn't get 'drunk.' They merely became slightly more jovial.

"**Anyway**," Marneus growled, "they might not be the best, but everyone in the galaxy **thinks** they are, which is just as bad. Because of the Flaw, for example. People think it makes them more... **dramatic**," he finished, while making air quotes with his armored fingers.

"Nonsense!" Varro said. "Our lack of genetic flaw is proof of our purity and perfection. Everyone knows that."

"They used to," Marneus retorted dejectedly. "It doesn't help some of them are overcoming the Flaw. It makes them grander than us if we go by what those who know about it say."

"Nonsense, I told you!"

Marneus sighed sadly. "Speaking of overcome Flaw... I fear Mephiston is considered more powerful than you."

Varro Tigurius, the only psyker in the Imperium strong enough to defy the Hive Mind, fainted on the spot.

"Pussy."

Everyone glared at Torias.

"What did this Mephiston do to be considered such?" Cato asked, still glaring at the sergeant scout.

"He killed a daemon prince all by himself."

Cato waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "Any Librarian with a force weapon could do th-"

"-by strangling it with his bare hands."

Silence.

"You're kidding," Cato finally uttered.

"I wish I was."

Laughter erupted from the bar. "Oh man," Torias said as he whirled around on his stool and propped his back against the counter, "the Grey Knights are gonna be so **pissed**."

More silence.

"...Didn't they all die in that World Engine incident?" Marneus asked, one eyebrow cocked in confusion.

"No, that's the Astral Knights. The Grey Knights work for the Inquisition."

Marneus' eyebrows as he stared at Torias, deep in thought. "Oh," he mouthed. "The power-armored women with an unhealthy obsession over fire."

"That's the Sisters of Battle working for the Ordo Hereticus. For the Ecclesiarchy too, but nobody cares about them."

The Chapter Master stroked his chin, looking sideways. "Ah!" he said, snapping his fingers. "The black-armored Space Marines running around with heavy bolters."

"Deathwatch. Ordo Xenos."

The room was silent once more as everyone besides the old Scout racked their brains in search of any memory of the Grey Knights.

"Ordo Malleus, daemonhunters," Torias finally said with a sigh.

All the Space Marines looked at each other.

It was Marneus who voiced their conclusion. "I don't remember them."

"Yeah, no one heard anything about them in ages," Torias replied as he went back to sipping his wine. "Probably on strike or something," he then muttered in his glass.

"Anyway," Marneus said, rubbing his temple, "that daemon prince? It was M'Kar the Reborn."

Awkward silence was truly becoming a honoured and frequent guest.

"Intolerable!" Ortan shouted, smashing his table with his fist. "That guy's ours! Why, that two-timing son of a-"

"Cassius!" Marneus yelled, shocked. Such language has nothing to do in an Ultramarine's mouth!"

Ortan pouted.

Marneus sighed before going on. "The Blood Angels also considered the best bikers among the Space Marines, just before the Ravenwing and the Whitescars."

Ortan gasped. "We're not among those better than them?" His outrage was shared by the other occupants of the salon, except Torias, Varro and Antaro for obvious reasons.

"They also, apparently, have the best Techmarines of the entire Adeptus Astartes. You'd think it'd be the Salamanders or the Iron Hands, but no, it's the ubiquitous Blood Angels again."

More outrage.

The Chapter Master threw his hands in the air. "I can't believe we're considered second best to people who just go and **drop** their Land Raiders on the enemy."

"Dropping a Land Raider on an enemy squad is certainly an interesting way to take it out," admitted Cato.

"Yeah, you'd think so, but it never quite works out that way for some reason," Torias mumbled from his stool.

"I truly hope no Space Wolf will ever vanquish the curse of the Wulfen," Marneus said. "Can you imagine? A psyker as powerful as Mephiston, except perpetually drunk?"

Half the room cringed and shuddered. The remaining half fainted like the strong men they were.

And they shall know no fear indeed.


End file.
